


Get To It

by spittingfeathers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Jealousy, Marriage, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 01:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4415639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spittingfeathers/pseuds/spittingfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is your own fault…a voice says spitefully in his mind. She’s taken another to bed because you could not satisfy her—you really are as cold as they say…perhaps the babe isn’t yours either…<br/>Beyond the door his wife’s breathing hitches and he knows she is close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get To It

**Author's Note:**

> You said you all don't mind smut so thought I'd gift you all with this for all the wonderful fic being posted/written at the moment and all the kudos/comments/bookmarks I've had recently. Hope you like it ;)

It had been a long morning of listening to Lords and Smallfolk, dealing with taxes and rents and assisting Davos with maintenance of his fleet. There would be more of that later, but for now, he had a short break where he could answer the letters that had been piling up on his desk. He entered his chambers alone while the King’s Guard waited watchfully outside the door, and sat behind his desk to go through the letters. There was correspondence from Renly who was ‘overseeing’ the transfer of supplies from The Reach with Ser Loras…updates from John Snow at the wall and… _what was that?_

A low noise from the other room - his _bedchamber_ \- made him still. He waited, and listened, and then a moment later he heard a gasp and low moan that he knew well. His breathing hitched at the sound though he wondered why she was in his bedchamber during the day. Stannis stood and made his way over to the door quietly. He had become acquainted with each and every noise that his wife made since they were married seven moons ago. He could recall the quiet gasp she would make when he kissed her neck or grasped her hip. The low moans when she would grind against him and arch her back when they were joined…

_“Oh, My Lord!”_

Stannis’ hand stills over the handle and any arousal that had been building swiftly dissipates, she says something else, so low that he cannot make it out but he thinks it to be a name.

He is not with her, so the name cannot be his.

Now he knows why she is in his chambers - she uses her own more frequently and has guards outside the door. The passageway between their chambers is known only to them and he is so often away from his own and without the guards standing guard there would be no one to hear…

He feels anger take its place in his chest, swift and hot as wildfire with the swift sting of jealousy and betrayal. He does not want to believe it, cannot when she has been nothing but dutiful, even suggesting that perhaps they should continue their duties even though she is with child…but the anger makes him blind and irrational though everyone knows that the Queen is as devoted to her husband as she was to her family.

_It is your own fault_ …a voice says spitefully in his mind. _She’s taken another to bed because you could not satisfy her—you really are as cold as they say…perhaps the babe isn’t yours either…_

Beyond the door his wife’s breathing hitches and he knows she is close.

In one swift move he unsheathes his sword, forever strapped to his side, and pushes open the door with such force that it swings, slams into the wall and bangs closed behind him. His eyes skim over her on his bed, flushed and wide eyed, her hands shooting up to pull the sheets up to her chin as she gasps. The surprise of his entry had made her cover herself but as she recognises him Stannis sees some of the tension drop from her shoulders and her hands start to lower the sheet back down. Then, she sees the dark expression on his face and unsheathed sword in his hand and her movement stills, the sheet just barely covering her heaving chest.

He takes in her flushed cheeks and tousled red hair, the silhouette of her curves clearly visible through the sheet she’s pulled up to cover her modesty, though it’s slipping and the swell of a breast becomes visible.

“Your Grace?” she says quietly and Stannis cannot say a word.

His anger is too much that he can do nothing but grind his teeth unless he wishes to shout and let the whole Keep know how much of a fool he has been.

“Where is he?” Stannis grinds out eventually, by all appearances she is alone in the room, but he is not so stupid to believe that someone cannot hide here.

She looks genuinely confused which only sets to make him angrier. “P-pardon? I do not understand?”

“Where. Is. He?” Stannis grinds out, though his repetition of the words don’t seem to make it clearer to her. Stannis strides over to the wardrobe and swings open the doors, reaching in to snatch at the man who sought to take his wife and make him a cuckold. There is no one there.

Not giving up, Stannis looks beneath their bed, behind the curtains, on the balcony, in all the nooks and crannies and into the secret passage which leads to the Queen’s Chambers.

Stannis stops his search; there is no other place in the room that anyone could hide and he can feel the burning gaze of his wife on his back. He turns to find her face tight with annoyance, now covered by the thin sheet she’s pulled from the bed to wrap around her shoulders.

“Are you quite done?” She says stiffly. “Unless perhaps you would like to search my own quarters or in some of the drawers for this man you believe to be slinking about in here?”

“No.” Stannis says, surely his teeth should have turned to powder by now. He can barely speak through the jealousy and rage and creeping embarrassment he begins to feel. “You will explain what you are doing in my chambers and tell me whose name you spoke.”

Sansa draws back as though she had been struck, blue eyes widening and mouth dropping open just a little. “It was yours! What did you think I was doing in here? Meeting my secret lover?” Sansa is suitably miffed though Stannis’ silence says it all and he feels like a fool when her face shifts to one of hurt. “I have no lover other than the man to which I am wed though he has refused to touch me in months!”

_Gods, he is a fool._

“It is not appropriate” Stannis sheathes his sword stands stiffly with his arms by his side, watching his wife explain with intense eyes. “You are with _child_.”

It is impossible that she would want him in such a way now she has fulfilled her duty as a wife and Queen. Perhaps she will not be adverse to another child once their first has been born and grown a little older but that is a while off yet. Stannis knows the truth of it though. That his wife acts on duty and not out of…affection.

He had grown comfortable with his lot in life and after Sylese had died and Shireen begged him not to make her leave Dragonstone. Stannis was forced to remarry and only the Queen in the North would settle the Northern Lords and bring them to his banner.

The conversation is one they’ve had before and Sansa’s eyes narrow. “I have asked the Maester and it is perfectly safe—yet you still refuse to lay with me!” the Queen huffs.

He is older and not at all comely like Renly was or Robert had been before the War. He is not ready with compliments and sweet gifts and courtly ways. His wife is dutiful but beyond that it is too soon for any affection for him to grow, his surly moods and blunt speech have seen to that, no matter how much she might say otherwise and pretend to find his quips amusing. “I will not force myself or needs on you—you have fulfilled your duty and therefore are relieved of it until…” he is alarmed to see tears in her eyes and he reaches for her when she almost trips when she untangles herself from the sheets to stand barefoot on the cold stone floor, the sheet left to pool around her feet.

His hands bracket her upper arms to steady her and once she has her feet he pulls back only to have his hands caught in her surprisingly strong grip. It is difficult to keep his composure when she stands in front of him like this - completely naked and her belly just starting to swell with the child that grows inside her.

“Is that the excuse you are using now or do you truly find me so abhorrent that you cannot bring yourself to touch me?”

Stannis cannot voice his desires; how the memory of her body has taunted him since she had come to him smiling softly to tell him that he was to be a father. He can’t let it show how much he has come to want—need—her. Her sweet smiles and easy affection have made him weak. Anyone who was to look a little closer at his mask of cool calm would see how she’s managed to crack him open, chipped away until he could do nothing else but give her anything she wished…

It is impossible for him to stop the drop in his shoulders - it is slight - but she notices anyway.

“Stannis?” she slides her hands up his arms and takes another step forward so she is almost chest to chest with him. She brings her hand up to cup his stubble covered cheek, he’d shaved that morning but already its starting to regrow.

Sansa won’t tell him how she’s missed feeling the rasping kisses on her neck and lower, how she’d even been pleased to cover up the beard burn that had scratched at her skin and evidenced the time they spent together.

Stannis grinds his jaw, his teeth creaking under the strain as she speaks again.

“It is only that…I have certain desires and often they cannot be sated by my own hand, sometimes I need other…incentives.” Stannis does not understand and she guides his jaw up so he may look her in the eyes, she seems oddly shy. “The room—the bed smells of you, unlike my own.” Sansa blushes, the brilliant flush of red spreads from her cheeks, down her neck and across the top of her chest. Stannis wants to follow it with his tongue and teeth and lips. “It is easier to imagine that they are your fingers instead of mine if I am in your bed…”

Stannis is stunned, suddenly bereft of all thought except the one that she uttered to him just now. She has never been this bold before. Their wedding night and for several weeks afterward had been about nothing but duty, her responses quiet, but growing in volume and intensity as they became more familiar with one another. He is reminded of her breathy sighs he’d heard from beyond the door and lets out a harsh breath through his nose at her words lest he let her know how much she truly affects him. Now he has realised there is no man in here with her…just her…thinking of him…in his bed…gods he has to leave.

“No!”

Stannis sucks in a sharp breath as Sansa wraps her arms around his middle and buries her face in his chest.

He puts his arms around her but she is all bare skin and he can feel her breasts pressed against his chest and surely she can feel how hard his heart is beating and how his cock is straining against his breeches. She must because she looks up, eyes pleading and full of want, and her hands come up to wrap around his neck and bring his face closer to hers and she whispers her desire against his ear. “…I want—I _need_ you Stannis, please.”

How could he resist when she begged him so sweetly?

Stannis’ resolve crumbles as their lips meet in a forceful kiss. All the emotion and tension that had been building up inside him since she told him she was with child comes pouring out. Sansa moans greedily and begins tearing at his clothes, the sound of stitches ripping and buttons hitting the floor is barely noticed as she strips off his doublet and shirt and seeks to rid him of his breeches.

It feels as though he has a fever, his skin burning and sweating as he runs a hand through her hair, the other trailing up and down her side while he kisses his wife breathlessly. He lets out a growl when she slides his breeches from his hips and grasps his leaking cock in her hot little hand, moving the way she knew he liked.

The back of his neck burns as she touches him, his cock leaking and smearing her hand with his seed as she brings it up to circle and rub at the head. He growls in her ear, his head bent, panting as he brushes his nose against her cheek, eyes shutting, completely lost to the way she pleasures him. There is no other battle but this where he would surrender so gladly.

She whines into his ear, pulling up one of his hands to cup her breast, and she moans as she shifts, her legs brushing against one another seeking friction for her ache. Her hand doesn’t speed up however, surely she knows it will drive him to do something, this torture cannot be endured for long.

Kicking off his boots and breeches from around his ankles unless he trip, Stannis picks her up with ease, arms beneath her back and knees and carries her to their bed. He lays her down, drinking in the sight of her body he had denied himself for so long. It has been months and his cock jerks as he remembers thrusting into her warm and willing body, listening to her cries as she clawed at his shoulders and begged for more.

Sansa smiles at him, skin flushed, chest heaving and as her lashes lower and her lips part he watches with a hitch in his breath as her hand smooths down over her skin to cup her mound.

“I was hoping you’d be an active participant,” his _bold, beautiful_ wife hums, eyes closing. Her hand begins to move and his own twitches, sorely wishing to replace hers. She opens one eye, peeking at him, and says cheekily, “If you wouldn’t mind, Your Grace.”

He bats her hand out of the way, but instead of replacing it with his own the way she expects, he leans in and buries his face between her legs, licking and sucking and running his tongue through her folds in a way that makes and gasp and squeal and writhe. She is the sweetest thing he has ever tasted and he laps at her, drinking her in like a starving man, fed by her moans and sighs and cries.

The scent and taste of her overwhelms him and his arms come underneath her to still the movement of her hips - inching up and rocking and pulling away in a torturous dance that wordlessly begs him for more. He cannot stop himself from rubbing at her entrance with his fingers, adding one and then another to be gripped by her walls. His whole body aches with his need for her but he cannot bring himself to move away, her passionate cries addictive and surely loud enough to reach his guards outside his solar. He feels the flutter of her walls and her body stills as she reaches desperately for release. His hand speeds up a little and he pays particular attention to her pearl with his tongue. Stannis watches as her face pinches, mouth dropping open, a look of pain on her face as he rubs at the secret spot inside her with his fingers and she begins to shudder around him, limbs twitching and mouth open in a gasp as she says his name over and over again. _Stannis. Stannis. Stannis._

His hands slow and he pulls back as she comes down from her high. The fierce jealousy he had felt upon first hearing her sigh from behind the door, rumbles in triumph. She would never say another name like she did his.

When she is finished, Stannis is prepared to deal with _his problem_ on his own. She has needs and he has satisfied them with his mouth and his hands, but it seems his wife is having none of it. Looking flushed and lovely and slightly bleary eyed from her release she sits up and her hand easily finds his prick and begins to stroke it again. Now it is his turn to close his eyes and gasp.

He leans forward and his head comes to rest on her bare shoulder; he can feel the warm rush of her breath on his ear, and it sends shivers through him when she speaks in a low voice.

“I want you inside me, Your Grace.” she says, her words emphasised by a little squeeze to the base of his cock that makes his hips jerk and breath rush from his lungs as though he has been punched. As he had fought for the Throne for so long, and because it was his Duty, it did not take his new wife long to realise that asking him for anything in a husky voice while tagging ‘Your Grace’ on the end of anything would set his blood aflame.

“Please, _Your Grace_ …”

He thinks he may come then and there, her hot little hand moving over him, her voice low and husky in his ear and the sight of her body before him, but he grinds his teeth to distract himself. It’s only when she sighs in his ear and twists her hand just so that he cannot help it when he nudges her back down to lay on the mattress. She laughs, delighted as he growls “As _my Queen_ commands,” and pushes into her in one slow stroke that removes all laughter from her face and makes her moan and arch her back.

It is a sweet torture. He goes slowly, no matter how much she sighs and pleads and begs him to go faster. Despite the way she wipes all else from his mind, he still remembers she is with child. Stannis’ release is a slow one, building piece by piece until every part of him is tense and pulled tight. The pleasure coils in his hips and rakes up and down his spine, trembles in his arms and pounds in his head until it cannot be contained any longer.

He comes with stuttering hips, his wife sighing as he releases inside her and the King clenches his eyes shut so tightly spots of colour dance behind his eyelids. He falls to his elbows, still inside her, breathing heavily and presses a clumsy kiss to the top of her left breast, her clavicle, her neck, her cheek and finally her lips. She sighs with each one and when he draws back, allowing himself to withdraw from her heat.

Most would say she looks at him _adoringly_ , but he is not quite so sure. A fondness, perhaps.

His hand, cautiously, gently, comes to rest atop her slightly swollen belly. A child. Their child. Stannis hears her sniff and he meets her eyes, alarmed to see there’s tears gathering there.

“Did I—?”

“No. Never.”

She is beautiful and far better than he deserves, but she is his, as he is hers.

Stannis is about to clean up and perhaps get back to those letters he has been avoiding when his Queen’s legs suddenly wrap around his waist and her hand wraps around his wrist in a steady grip.

“I am not so young as you might wish, My Queen. I will need time.”

She looks at him sternly, and Stannis waits for whatever it is she has to say with no small amount of trepidation.

“You will trust me on this, My Lord, I have never betrayed you, and never will, in or out of our bed.” Her tone brooked no argument and he remembers his earlier accusations with no small amount of embarrassment and disgust.

“I…apologise, My Queen.” He says slowly, but sincerely. It’s difficult for him, to speak his thoughts and feelings aloud so when she goes to speak, already looking like she forgives him, he shakes his head just slightly and she lets him carry on. “I should have known you would never do such a thing, it is well known that while I may be the King, that is most likely my only redeeming factor in many eyes. I know I am not…comely or young or even particularly courteous and to have you as my Queen, and seemingly so willing—“ he trails off but his Queen seems more than ready to take up the slack, her blue eyes fierce and cheeks pink.

“Willing? Of course I am willing, and any who say you are unworthy or too old or _cold,_  yes I listen to the rumours just as much as you, are ignorant and definitely misinformed. You are handsome to me and in the prime of your life, there are many good years ahead of us and I guarantee if any of those who think you cold stood outside only a moment ago they would not have a leg to stand on!” His wife’s cheeks are flushed with more than their activities now and he feels a warmth in his chest on her defence of him. “If I did not think you comely or wish you to touch me I certainly would not be in your bed touching myself to the thought of our lovemaking and I never would have married you!”

Stannis’ mind momentarily comes to a standstill. _She had called it love making. Did that mean…?_

“Yes. Yes it does mean I love you, Stannis.”

He knows it is true affection she speaks with now and he cannot help but lean forward and kiss her. Perhaps he will tell her the same one day, but he’s used up his quota for feelings and besides, he’d much rather show her…

She looks at him archly, putting a hand on his chest to pause a second kiss. “—And just one more thing. If you think you are leaving this room for anything other than to make water, and then come back, you are sorely mistaken. I do believe I’m owed quite a bit in _apologies_.” She grins at him, biting her lip and Stannis is surprised to find himself twitching in response. Already? Perhaps he wasn’t so old as he thought. “Best get to it, _Your Grace_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Expect more smut when I get the inspiration for it. Of course, feel free to leave suggestions to add to my ever growing list of ideas and fave tropes ;)


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